


the art of being okay

by mysterytwin



Category: Over the Garden Wall
Genre: Angst, Gen, and she needs this, because beatrice has lots of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:51:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8124235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysterytwin/pseuds/mysterytwin
Summary: Beatrice knows that it’s not easy to be okay. It takes time. And work. Lots of it. But she’ll manage. She’ll master the stupid art of being okay and she’ll be really good at it. She’ll be okay.





	

Beatrice is tired of feeling alone. 

It’s absolutely sickening. The way her family acts like nothing happened — it’s awful. Yeah, they joke about eating dirt; they tell her to stay away from the forest; they make sure they’re all home before nightfall in case the Beast is still out there, but every time she brings up Wirt and Greg—

—it’s like they never existed at all.

(it frustrates her to no end. they’re wrong. they’re real.)

Her mother will ask who she’s talking about and she’ll describe Wirt with his red cone hat and his triangular nose and his knack to be The Most Annoying Person She’s Ever Met™, then she’ll talk about Greg, the small boy with a kettle on his head and his frog and songs. But they’ll stare at her like they don’t know who she’s talking about.

(which, by the way, is totally unfair, because she’s pretty sure they met Wirt at some point, right?)

She doesn’t like feeling dumb. And alone. And confused. All at the same time.

It’s like the only people who actually understood what happened — and who the Woodsman and the Beast and Adelaide really were — are the people who might as well be called figments of her imagination. But Beatrice is as sure as heck that Wirt and Greg are real. They have to be. She isn’t crazy. (And that’s saying something — she was a _bluebird_!)

They were real. They were real. They _are_ real.

 _“Goodbye, Beatrice,”_ rings in her head over and over like a carousel ride. Couldn’t she have asked where they lived? Why didn’t she ask them where they were going? She couldn’t do this alone — she couldn’t pretend they weren’t real and move on. She needed to know where they were. _“Goodbye, Wirt,”_ was a mistake. A big one.

(fixing it will be hard. really hard. but she has to try — she has to find them. it’s another wrong that she needs to make right. remembering that she’s the reason her family became bluebirds in the first place is a knife to her chest. a sharp jab through her heart, knocking the air out of her lungs and leaving her on her knees. it was her fault. all her fault. _her fault_.)

Beatrice is glad her family isn’t mad. They don’t hold any grudges, nor are they bitter about it. Thank God. They’re not angry that she kind of caused them their lives for a couple of days, since it turns out, there’s a lot of animals ready to attack bluebirds.

(who knew? ugh. she did. obviously. she’s not dumb.)

Exhaustion sweeps through her body as her mind recalls all the events like she’s on a rollercoaster of memories and she wipes the tears from her eyes she hadn’t known had started to spill. She stifles her sniffles, knowing that the walls of the house were as thin as paper. And if her mother heard her...well, she’d think she’s crazy for sure. Without a doubt. And she did _not_ want that.

She’s not crazy. Promise.

(truth is — she just really wants to talk to Wirt and Greg. well, mostly Wirt, since heavens knows that a serious conversation with Greg won’t happen very easily. she misses them, okay? there. that’s it. she misses arguing with Wirt and looking out for Greg like he’s her own brother. she misses them a whole lot and it sucks a lot because she really, really doesn’t want to be alone anymore. she’s tired of pretending everything’s okay at home when it’s not. Beatrice is alone and she’s not okay with that. not anymore.)

She’s crying again in the corner of her room, shoulders slumped and head buried under her head. Her knees are folded and touching her forehead, and her arms bring them closer to her. She can feel her heart hammering, her breath quickening. She’s not okay.

It’s in that moment she realizes — it’s okay not to be okay. 

(she is not okay, but she will be. she just needs more time to get better and find Wirt and Greg. _more time._ yeah. that’s it. sounds nice.)

Beatrice knows that it’s not easy to be okay. It takes time. And work. Lots of it. But she’ll manage. She’ll master the stupid art of being okay and she’ll be really good at it. She’ll be okay.

With that thought, Beatrice brings her head up with a flicker of determination pounding in her heart. She stands up, grabs a small bag, and starts packing a bunch of clothes. She will try to find them, she will go into that forest and she _will_ find them. She has to. For her own sanity. 

Beatrice leaves a letter on the kitchen table. She can’t drag her family into another mess. Not again.

 _I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. Promise_. - Beatrice

With shaking fingers, Beatrice leaves the house and into the night, entering the forest with both fear and hope. If she’s going to find Wirt and Greg, then the place where she found them at the start is the way to go. She can do this. It won’t be hard. She’s Beatrice and she’s not okay, but she will be. She will be.

Time to head into The Known.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu at superishs.tumblr.com!!


End file.
